The fear crystalized her mind, and she replayed the stunt, second by second. She wouldn’t even consider hitting the ground as a blow. Her shoulder hurt because she’d landed wrong, not because she’d hit hard. When she scanned her body and nothing else hurt, she released a breath of relief.
That was a close call. Way too close.
“Holy shit, Z.” Chase was on one knee beside her, turning her over.
Pain radiated through her shoulder, and she cried out. “Stop, stop, stop.” She took a breath, holding her arm tight to her side. “Give me a second.”
Fuck, that hurt.
One by one, members of the crew circled her. Zahara forced herself to sit up. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Everyone relax.”
Andy ordered everyone back to work and crouched beside Zahara, looking at her and Chase in turn. “What the fuck happened?”
“It was my fault,” Zahara said. “I forgot to tether us together.”
Andy sat back on his heels. “You forgot?” He repeated the question with different emphasis. “You forgot?”
“I know, I know. It was stupid. It won’t happen again.”
He was kind enough not to lecture her in public. “We need to get you to the ER.” He called to a crew member. “Calvin.”
“What? No. I’m fine.” Zahara rolled to her knees and got to her feet, holding her arm still. Chase stood by, hands out, ready to help but obviously afraid to touch her. Despite immobilizing her arm, the pain throbbed through her shoulder.
“I’ll take her,” Chase said, a tentative hand on her back.
“Jesus, you guys, I’m fine,” she insisted. “Give me a couple of Advil and half an hour break, and I’ll be ready to go.”
Andy stood with them. “Not until a doctor clears you.”
“Andy, seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. We still have two months of stunts left. I’ll rearrange the filming schedule if you need time to heal.”
“I’m not going to need—”
“I’ll let a doctor tell me that,” Andy said. “Go.” He looked at Chase. “Take care of her, and keep me posted.”
Chase followed Zahara into a room within the emergency department at a Vancouver hospital.
He couldn’t have felt worse than he did right now. His brain flipped through his worries like a Rolodex—the extent of Zahara’s injury, how it would affect her position in the film, if it had the potential to harm her placement in future films. Zahara wouldn’t talk about any of it. She’d been intent on silence during the drive, shutting him down every time he tried to ask about her pain.
The young woman who had ushered them into the room offered Zahara a clipboard holding forms. “If you could fill these out, someone will be right in.”
Zahara sat on the edge of a gurney, looking miserable and angry. She released her protective hold on her left arm and reached for the clipboard, but Chase took it first.
“I’ve got these,” he told her. “You shouldn’t move in case something’s broken.”
She rolled her eyes. “Nothing’s broken.”
When the girl exited the room, Chase looked at the gurney. “Do you want to lie down? Maybe we should put your arm on a pillow or something.”
She leveled him with an irritated scowl. “Chase.”
“Okay, okay.” He dropped into a chair. “Andy must have called ahead. I’ve never gotten into the ER so damn fast.” He scanned the paperwork. “Jesus, you don’t realize how little you know about a person until you’re faced with these forms.” He pulled a pen from beneath the clip on the top of the board and scribbled her name on the first line. “Middle name? Address? Shit, I don’t even know where in the hell you live.”
“Give them to me.” She reached again. “I can fill them out.”
He rejected the idea. “I’ll do what I can.”